Hang Ten
by Lone Gunwoman of the Week
Summary: Jay and Silent Bob reach the end of their rope.


Subj:FIC: HANG TEN   
Date:11/6/02 7:26:21 PM Central Standard Time  
From:RiffRandell83  
To:RiffRandell83  
Title: Hang Ten  
Author: Rebecca  
Rating: PG-13 for language (namely Jay's)  
Timeline: pre-Chasing Amy, the boyz are living with Trish  
Feedback: lemonbaby67@yahoo.com  
Summary: Jay and Silent Bob reach the end of their rope. Literally.  
Disclaimer: The characters of Jay,Silent Bob, and Tricia Jones are   
the property of Kevin Smith, View Askew Productions, and Miramax   
films. Their likenesses are the property of Kevin Smith, Jason Mewes  
and Renee Humphreys. The character of Jamie, however, is all mine.  
Warning: In spite of the title, this isn't a surfing story -- though the   
thought does set off a couple dozen plot devices...  
Notes: This story was inspired by both Kevin Smith and Jay Mewes'  
real life happening on the set of "Mallrats," and a real life incident   
from my father's teenage days in Southern Missouri. The idea to   
combine the two snuck up on me one afternoon over a cherry slurpee  
and an episode of "Haunted History."  
Notes II: The PBS special Jay mentions was on bungee jumping. And  
the 'Chinese flick' he refers to is "The Magic Curse," the kung-fu/  
sexploitation flicks to end all kung-fu/sexploitation flicks. Just outrageous  
enough that it could belong to Jay and Bob.  
Dedication: To Dad for numerous tales of a glorious youth, Rene for  
listening and laughing, and Matt for all the kung-fu movies.  
  
**********************************************************************************  
  
/*Fucking ...Tell me again how we got ourselves into this?*/  
  
"Dude, all I said was 'I wonder if we's could both fit on the rope together.'  
*You're* the one who fuckin' grabbed the end of it."  
  
No help from the raspy blond at his ear. Bob hastened a glance over the   
sleeve of Jay's windbreaker and down..down...before quickly shifting his   
gaze and clutching the horse-hair between his hands a bit tighter. No   
help there either. How exactly had they gotten themselves into   
this again? Oh yeah..  
  
It had all started this morning when Tricia announced over their Egg-a   
Mooby muffins (her treat -- they should've guessed something was up)   
that she had a meeting with her editor. Pendant Publishing had agreed   
to a re-release of _Boregasm_ with additional chapters, two of which   
were finished and ready for review. Nothing unusual about that. Except   
that Jamie, Tricia's editor, preferred to meet with his authors at his   
country house..  
  
..in Connecticut.   
  
Easily a six hour drive. With any luck, she'd be back in Jersey by the   
wee hours of the next morning. Not trusting her two roommates to have   
the house to themselves for what could be a twelve to eighteen hour   
period, Tricia's second announcement was that Jay and Silent Bob   
would be coming wi --er, *accompanying* her.  
  
Right away, Jay had balked. They may have been crashing in   
her living room, eating her food, and generally sucking up all the  
air she breathed, but they were *Jay and Silent Bob.* They had   
places to go, deals to make, chicks to mack. Plus, they already   
owed her for last month's rent and Friday was a big business day,   
all the little mallrats stocking up for whatever little parties they were   
having Saturday night. The argument finally ended with Trish typing   
up a quick promisory note excusing the twosome from last month's   
rent *and* THIS month's rent, plus a quick trip to the notary Jay   
insisted upon prompting a quirked eyebrow from Trish. Bob shrugged.  
  
They dealed to a lot of lawyers.  
  
The drive up had been interesting, to say the least. With Jay hanging   
his head out the window and squealing with delight every time they   
passed a pasture.  
  
"Look Lunchbox! HORSES! 'A horse is a horse a-course a-course--'"  
  
Even Trish had to smile that time . As much as she shot them down   
to Finger -cuffs, Brodie, fuck *everybody*, Bob didn't think she would   
have let them stay at her apartment as long as she had if there wasn't   
some sentiment there..Or at least amusement..Or pity. Maybe just  
pity. Who the fuck cared? She let them sleep on her couch.  
  
Jamie's family came from New York. Back in the days Prohibition,   
they had made a fortune in bootlegging that, over the course of several   
decades, had dwindled own to almost nothing leaving only the country   
house and the twenty acres of land it sat on. Jamie set up shop in the  
house sometime in the seventies and with the almost nothing started   
up a small publishing company, which --thanks to the bestselling   
status of _Boregasm_ and a couple others-- had taken off in recent  
years, bringing with it the wealth his family had reveled in only in their   
heyday somewhere back around 1924.  
  
He'd made lots of money off of Tricia, and his affection for her -- as  
well as his vast collection of pre-modern furnishings -- showed it.  
His affection for her also, appartently, was extended to her friends,  
as he greeted not just Trish, but Jay and Bob with a peck on the  
cheek (to which Jay rewarded him with a long string of non-sensical  
curses). Jamie had laughed, chalking it up to Jay's 'hyperactive  
charm,' and admitting a soft spot for the pair's 'high-strung energy.'  
Unfortunately, in the splendor of Jamie's antique-laden parlor, Jay's  
high-strung energy and hyperactive charm became a liability.  
  
Particularly to a rather grotesque vase that looked like it was older   
than Bob's grandmother.  
  
Jamie had attempted to soothe a mortified and slightly livid Trish,   
"Really sweetie, it's all right. It's worth *more* now." Still, his favorite   
authoress remained unmoved.  
  
While Tricia discussed business with Jamie, her two anxious house-  
mates were relegated to an old barn in back of the house, complete  
with derelict stable and woodshelf. Perturbed but compliant, the two   
friends kept themselves busy by smoking a bowl up in the barn's   
hayloft where Jay quickly discovered a length of coarse rope attached   
to the rafters. He then proceeded to keep himself entertained for much   
of the afternoon by swinging on said rope from one end of the barn to   
the other, the much-abused heels of his Doc Martens bouncing off   
either end of the rotund loft.  
  
Bob and his fear of heights were more content to recline on the edge   
of the loft and listen to his friend practice different Tarzan yells. As he  
was now smoking what was left of the small stash they had brought  
with them by himself, the familiar haze that began to cloud his mind  
became a bit more dense.  
  
Around the time he began counting the number of dust-mites   
gathering around the cuticle on his left thumbnail, Jay made the   
suggestion that they might be able to fit on the rope together.  
Momentarily distracted from his fascinated musings, Bob's mind lit   
up at the idea.   
  
Had he had a slightly-more-than tenuous grasp on them, his   
scientific instincts would have told him that the momentum Jay   
had been keeping up to that time would be offset by Bob's   
slightly heavier form. But, still in the last vestiges of the substance -  
induced haze, his scientific instincts failed him.   
  
The next rebound came up too shallow to reach the loft. As did the   
next one. And the next. Gradually, momentum slowed..and slowed  
..and finally, ceased altogether, leaving the two stoners hanging over   
over a thirty foot drop.  
  
Seconds later, Jay's tenuous grip faltered and he tumbled the two and   
a half feet into his friend's awkward embrace, the rope grasped between   
them. The wiry blond's reddened and, no doubt, blistered hands   
scrambled to keep their hold around Bob's neck, while his legs kept   
a similar position around his hips.  
  
Now more sober than he'd ever been in his entire life, Bob examined   
the situation: the texture of the rope burned his hands. The heel of Jay's   
left boot was lodged in the small of his back. His neck was stiff   
from staring skyward for an uncounted number of minutes. One   
golden tress of his friend's hair was hanging in his eyes and he   
couldn't find the puff of breath to blow it away. He'd left the grappling  
gun back in Jersey and even if he'd had it, he couldn't exactly have  
reached for it anyway. Things were not looking good.  
  
Meanwhile, above him, a near-frantic Jay was busy planning their   
escape route.  
  
"Awright, here's the plan: you let go, touch base down there on the   
ground all cool like a motherfucker , I let go of the rope and land on you   
all soft and shit like one of them fuckin' air mattresses. We get up,  
brush arselves off, see if Jamie'll let us back in tha house."  
  
/*Fuck you!*/  
  
"Fuck *you*, man! It could work -- I seen it on PBS!"  
  
/*Bitch, you think I got wings?!*/  
  
"Look, if we fall, I'm hitting you anyway, dude. You're hitting the  
ground. Least my way, you might be able ta sneak some tuck-  
and-roll into that shit."  
  
Bob's expression hardened, unimpressed.  
  
"Well, *fuck you* Jedi motherfucker! I don't see you coming up  
with any ideas..Trish!"  
  
/*Trish!/*  
  
"Trish!"  
  
/*Trish!*/  
  
"Trish!!  
  
"Oh my God, what are you two doing up there?!"  
  
The twosome looked down to where Trish was standing, arms folded  
across her chest, at the door of the barn, then back at each other.  
  
"Motherfuckin' Yoda and shit," Jay mumbled, then turned his attention  
to Tricia, "Bitch, you must be part bat or some shit. How the fuck'd you   
hear us all the way back at the house?"  
  
"I didn't. Jamie's going into town to get dinner. He wanted to know if   
you guys wanted anything?"  
  
"He goin' ta Mooby's? Shit, yeah! Tell him I want a Mega-Mooby   
burger, a side of Surly Duck fries--"  
  
"And how exactly do you expect me to *give* you your massive-coronary-  
in-a-paper-bag Jay? Via slingshot?"  
  
"Well what the fuck you just standin' there for, Bitch, get us down!"  
  
"Relax, I'll get you down."  
  
Bob craned his neck just in time to see Trish stroll toward the back  
of the barn, disappearing from sight only to reappear a few moments  
later with a large hay-bail and summarily drop it to the ground below  
them. She repeated the trip several times without explanation.  
  
"Dude. What the fuck she doin', man?"  
  
Jay watched as Trish retrieved another bail of hay and tossed it onto   
the growing pile.  
  
"Bitch, I ain't jumpin' into no fuckin' Mister Ed's breakfast. I'll take   
my chances with Tubby here, he's all soft and shit. That shit down   
there, I'd fuckin' break my back an' how the fuck we suppose' to   
deal in front of Quick Stop when the dude that brings in most of the  
green's got a broken back? Huh? How? An' how'm I 'sposed ta wash   
the dishes, an' pick up the living room, an' all that other bullshit   
you've been bugging me to do for the past three weeks, huh? How'm  
I supposed to that, Trish? 'djou think about that?"  
  
"I'm not asking you to jump, Jay," Trish through another square on   
the pile and, this time, instead of heading to the back, turned on her  
heal and made her way toward the woodshelf. Bob squinted through   
blonde hair as Trish returned a moment later, something in her hand.  
  
"Don't be alarmed," she assured them as the object came into view:  
a .44 caliber Derringer! "Well, actually, forget I said that."   
  
The pair watched as Trish calmly aimed the Derringer and cocked   
the hammer back. Bob's eyes went wide.  
  
/Oh, *fuck*./  
  
"What the SHIT IS THAT?!!"  
  
"Now hold still."  
  
"YOU BITCH! YOU BITCH! WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YER--"  
  
#BANG#  
  
#.....snap#  
  
CRASH.  
  
"Uhhhhh...."  
  
"Got you down, didn't I?" Trish replaced the Derringer on top of the  
shelf, already walking toward the barn door, "come on. After that,   
you owe *me* a Mega Mooby burger."  
  
"Dude, remind me to write up an excuse for NEXT month's rent we  
get home," Jay trailed after their female roommate, picking straw  
out of his hair as Bob in turn trailed behind him.  
  
"An that bitch better sign it to, her aim ain't that great. I could be a  
motherfuckin' eu-eu-eu, one of them dudes from that Chinese flick  
by now."  
  
/*Tell me again how we got ourselves into this? Oh yeah..*/  
********************************************************************************* 


End file.
